Chapter 25
"ARE YOU INSANE?"
Felicity's voice echoes in the Foundry, bouncing off the concrete walls and the pipes that still drip sometimes despite her yelling about the danger to her precious computers. Oliver's arrows might even shake a little in his quiver at the annoyance radiating off her. What she knows for sure is that the man in question visibly winces at her shout while Digg shoots him a what-did-I-tell-you-man look.
Honestly, she can't even believe John went along with it.
"You brought a potentially unstable VILLAIN into our SECRET LAIR? What the hell are we supposed to do with her now? Make friends? Have tea? Maybe throw a party? We can all share our feelings and sing Kumbya! Not that I know that song. It's an expression people use, which you probably know, but seriously, Oliver, what were you thinking?"
He doesn't look nearly has chagrined as Felicity would like.
"I needed to do something, Felicity. She wasn't going to stop." He runs a hand through his hair. His face is tired and drawn as though this decision aged him overnight. "We needed to get ahead of her somehow."
"And kidnapping was the best alternative?"
"Considering last time I slept with her, yes." Oliver crosses his arms, firm at least in that decision.
"And how does this help? You're just going to lock her up until she agrees not to hurt her father? I hate to break it to you, Oliver, but it's more likely that when she finally gets out, she'll kill us along with her father."
"So we teach her another way," Oliver responds, conviction in his voice with doubt in his eyes.
Felicity rolls her eyes. "Isn't that what you tried last time? You know, the thing that didn't work."
"Why don't we let her kill her father?" John adds, shrugging when the other two stare incredulously at him. "What? As long as there's no dead innocents, what could be the harm in getting rid of Bertinelli and his men?"
Oliver opens his mouth to object, but Felicity's jumped on the subject.
"Well, that's what happened last time." At Oliver's shocked look she continues: "Look, I'm not advocating murder, but these are bad guys doing bad things. I've already found information on money laundering, smuggling, weapons deals, drugs. I mean, the only other thing that could preserve the timeline is turning it all over to the FBI and making sure they can wrangle everyone, which, for the record, is my suggestion."
"And if they can't?" Digg asks. "Both sides are going to want retribution for tonight. Not to mention, Bertinelli's going to realize his daughter is missing."
"So the mob war already started? Great." Felicity deadpans. "So what's your plan, Oliver? What do we do next?"
He drops into a chair, running his hands over his face.
"How about we start with the woman in our holding cell?" Felicity insists, pulling up the video feed. "The holding cell that we apparently have, which raises a bunch of other questions, but what exactly are we going to do? Because I will not be an accessory to kidnapping."
"If there was a way to drop her off at the local FBI office with all the information Felicity's gathered, we can just monitor the situation and protect people the best we can." Oliver's fists clench like he can't believe they're making this decision.
Felicity squats in front of him to get him to look her in the eye, a furrow between her brows as she looks at the conflict in his face. "Hey," she whispers softly, "what's bothering you?"
The blue of his eyes feel like they could pierce her soul as filled with emotion as they are. She's never seen him look this lost. Oliver always managed to look purposeful, even when things were going wrong he kept going because he had a purpose. Here he looked like he's been dropped into the middle of something and he didn't know what the right thing to do was.
"Helena said her father had men in the FBI. What if we report everything and nothing changes? What if it just gets her killed? I failed her one time, Felicity. I don't think I can do that again."
She wants to pull him into a hug and chase away all his fears. She's never seen a man who cares so much about the world, so much that each small choice weighs on him, that it destroys him when he has to make tough choices. Sure, he can blunder through everything, working on the fly, but then each choice comes back to haunt him. It's the reason he's so broody, so serious. He internalizes and blames himself for everything.
Being from the future really doesn't help that.
"Oliver, I've been through the FBI files." Which could land her in so much more trouble than just their vigilante activities, but she doesn't like to think about that. "Basically, their case is dead because they lost all their leads from Helena after Michael died. But I can find someone trustworthy inside the organization, and I might even be able to find the moles. Money always leaves a trail."
She slides over to her computer with well-practiced movements and immediately starts typing. The sound of the clicking keys soothes her, sending her into almost a meditative state as she starts to run her searches. Never did she think she would become this proficient in hacking...again.
Although this whole endeavor was sufficiently more heroic and honorable...if still very very illegal.
Felicity pauses as she lets the computer do its job. "So, we're agreed?"
Diggle and Oliver seem to be in a standoff when she turns to face them. She must have zoned out for a bit there because she can't remember what went on that lead to them standing on opposite sides of the lair, arms crossed, glaring at each other. Everything about their body language speaks to an argument that she doesn't remember them having.
"We're turning her over to the FBI, right?" She leads with a gesture to the back where Helena's locked up. "So that's all settled."
"Right," Oliver agrees, eyes locked on John as the other man nods.
Felicity frowns, catching the reluctant undertone. "Okay. So what are we going to do with her in the meantime? She's going to be waking up soon."
"I'll handle it," Oliver announces.
Felicity sighs and spins around again, going full circle. She's tired of their stand-off between the guys and has no interest in sticking around the testosterone-filled lair any longer than necessary. Not to mention, she doesn't really want to be party to kidnapping any more than she already is.
Tonight seems like the perfect night for a glass of wine and some Netflix. She's got a bottle of sea foam green nail polish she's been meaning to use. Maybe she'll get some ice cream on the way home too.
Or not. She's been eating a little too much fast food lately. She's going to have to step up her workouts on the stairmaster. Pun unintended.
"Alright. I'm out of here. The computers are doing their thing. I'll have a name in the morning, if not in the next couple hours. Think you guys can handle that?" Felicity flicked her earring and fighting a yawn as she contemplates Oliver and Digg, swaying in her chair.
"I think we can." Oliver rolls his eyes, as if the suggestion was that ludicrous.
Felicity purses her lips. "You sure about that? Because last time you did something on your own, you kidnapped someone." She gestures vaguely toward the back of the Foundry.
The matching grimaces confirm that she's right and Felicity points at Digg.
"You're in charge. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."
He nods solemnly and even Oliver doesn't argue with that. Maybe she's finally getting through to him.
...
"LET ME OUT OF HERE!"
Oliver grimaces at the video feed of the cell as Helena rages and screams. There's a crazed look in her eyes as she shakes the bars and continues to shout. The threats get more and more explicit as time draws on, much to Oliver's exasperation and Diggle's amusement.
"Your psycho ex is creative, I'll give her that."
He shoots Dig a look. "She's not my ex."
"But she was," John points out with a grin. "I'm starting to see what why you didn't work out."
"You're enjoying this too much." Being with Helena is the last thing he wants to talk about. Really, it should be a moot point. Why did he tell them about that again?
Digg continues to shake his head as he reaches out and mutes the sound. "You should probably go in and talk to her."
Oliver glares at him, but pulls the green leather up over his face again. Digg has a point. If he can convince Helena to go to the FBI willingly, this will be a lot easier. At the very least he can get her to calm down a bit.
Hopefully.
He pauses in front of the sound-proofed door for one last adjustment on his hood. This Helena Bertinelli has never met Oliver Queen. It shouldn't be easy for her to recognize him, which – he's realizing – is integral to their plan. So much of the reason Oliver helped her in the other time line had to do with the fact that she knew his secret. She could out him at any time, so for this to work she can't have any inkling.
Maybe he should have sent Digg in wearing the suit.
The door is soundless as it swings open, but Helena's shouts continue to echo off the soundproof walls inside the room. She doesn't notice him at first, too busy ranting at the camera in the ceiling. Her knuckles are bloody from pounding the metal bars and her face twists in rage.
"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE! MY FATHER WILL COME LOOKING FOR ME!" She pauses a beat before trying again. "WE'RE ON THE SAME SIDE HERE!"
"Those statements seem to be contradictory." The modulator garbles his voice, pitching it lower as he talks to her.
Helena spins toward him, her fists rising to float by her cheeks in a defensive posture. Slowly they drift down to her sides. Despite a hint of fear in her eyes, Helena continues to face off against him through the bars of the cage.
"Which is it?" He asks, genuinely curious how she's going to approach this.
"I'm trying to get rid of the gangs. Isn't that what you're doing? Trying to make the city safer? Isn't kidnapping me counterproductive?" She slinks closer. Her strategy morphs from confrontational to seductive. "You and I are doing the same thing: protecting the innocents. I could help you."
Oliver scowls. He didn't think she would go for the direct approach, but here it is. She's even playing with the zipper of her leather jacket, pulling it down to give him a hint of the skin underneath.
"I don't particularly like your brand of help."
"Some people don't deserve to live. Every man I killed as murdered innocents. They don't deserve your protection."
"I didn't lock you up to protect them," Oliver rumbles. Was she always this annoying? "I locked you up to protect you and the innocents who would get caught in the turf war you started."
"Except you failed, didn't you?" Helena counters, her face twisted in a snarl. "The consequences for tonight will be brutal because you kidnapped me. How does that fit into your master plan?"
"It was a calculated risk." One he calculated at the last minute, but still a risk he considered. They just need to drop her off at the FBI before the Bertinelli's start their return strike. "You're going to give everything you have to the FBI."
Helena falls back, arms crossed over her chest as she immediately closes off. "No."
"We're outing your father's mole as we speak. You'll go into witness protection, and maybe, if you testify, you can cut a deal."
"You wouldn't. You can't. Not without endangering yourself."
Oliver raises his eyes eyebrows under the hood and purposefully let's a chuckle escape. "And how would that endanger me?"
She flounders for an answer.
"There were no witnesses. You don't know who I am, or where we are. You have no leverage here." And just like that, Oliver feels at ease with this decision, the last of his anxiety slipping away. This might not be the best course of action, but now at least he was confident in the decision.
He turns away from her and walks out without a backward glance. "I'd get some rest if I were you."
...
"Why did I decide to do this?" Felicity mutters to herself, wrapping her jacket closer around her to fight off the wind.
She's exhausted after one too many nights with too little sleep; her head has developed a low-grade headache that's just enough to irritate her, and to top it all off she got it in her head that this was a good idea. In hindsight, she really should have mentioned to Oliver or Digg or anybody really that she was planning on going into the Glades by herself at midnight.
Her hand wraps around her phone in her pocket. All it would take was a quick call, one press of a button really since they were on speed dial. One button and either of her boys would be here in a heartbeat with a stern word about putting herself in danger. And then Oliver would insist on going with her to the warehouse.
She knows he wants to see the warehouse himself, that he didn't see it the first time. He hadn't even been aware of it until she mentioned it in Roy's hospital room. If she's being honest, that's exactly why she didn't want him to see it. What if what's in it alters the timeline further? It might not even be that important. He already knows his mother is a part of the Undertaking. Maybe it won't even help them now.
It's for his protection. Oliver doesn't have to take on everything himself. So instead of doing the smart, the logical, thing, Felicity told the boys she was preparing her apartment for Roy's stay and took off into a questionable part of the city without back up.
Yesh. Really not the smartest plan.
Maybe her brain decided to take a well-earned vacation.
This is how you get yourself killed, Felicity, she reprimands herself. She doesn't even know how to throw a punch. The most experience she has in martial arts is watching Oliver and Diggle spar, and she can't replicate most of those moves. If she's really lucky, she might be able to throw a decent punch.
The building in question looms over her, a simple warehouse by the docks, surrounded by a bunch of other similar looking warehouses. The exterior is so unremarkable, she double checks the number before walking up to the keypad-locked door. Discretely, she glances around her as she walks to make sure she's not being followed. That's what you're supposed to do in these situations, right?
Which is how she misses the cameras at first. The blinking red light alerts her to the presence of surveillance and she scrambles for her phone.
"Shoot," she whispers to herself as she uses her phone to hack the security system of the warehouse. She's too tired for this. "Should have looked for cameras. I should have expected cameras. But no I had to look for a tail first because suddenly I'm in a spy movie. And done! I should have just gone home and gone to bed."
With the cameras disabled, Felicity walks up to the door, using her phone to hack the keypad as well. That alone removes any doubt that Moira owns the warehouse, and that people need to try harder with their passwords. Because "Robert"? Not a great password. She probably could have guessed it.
She doesn't know what she expected to find hidden in the giant building. The first thing her mind conjures up as she pushes the door open is thousands of filing cabinets, but she knows that's ridiculous. This isn't a sci-fi movie.
The lights click on as she steps into the spacious room, the sudden intensity causing her to blink rapidly as her eyes adjust.
"Oh my god!"
The floor of the warehouse is covered completely with ship wreckage, debris scattered in a simulation of what the boat must have looked like when it was intact. The Queen's Gambit looks monstrous even strewn in parts across the floor. But what really catches her eye is the hull of the ship.
The metal is pulled away – and she's not an expert in any sense of the word – but to her, it looks like an explosion occurred from the inside. She zooms in on the torn metal and takes a couple pictures to examine later. She lowers the phone to look at the scorch marks in person.
She hasn't looked into the report of the sinking of the Queen's Gambit yet. There just hasn't been time between Applied Science business and Arrow stuff at night. She knows the basic details, just like anyone who has a TV, because understandably, it's not one of Oliver's favorite subjects. But this definitely doesn't look like weather-related damage.
Turning her back on the wreckage is harder than she thought it would be, but Felicity's skin pebbles with goosebumps. There are eyes on her. She can feel someone watching her, a feeling so unsettling she double-checks that the camera feeds as she moves quickly for the warehouse door.
Her hand wraps around the metal handle of the door as she hears the electronic beep, the only clue of her about-to-be intruder's arrival. The wall is cool on her back as Felicity presses against it to avoid the door as it swings inward. Of course, she continues to act like she's in some movie, sucking in her gut, turning her face, and standing on her tip toes to avoid the cool metal door, which is really the least of her problems.
Because this isn't a movie. As soon as the door closes, the new arrival will see her and Felicity will be busted. She's either going to die or be arrested.
"Alright, boys! You know our orders! Let's clean this mess up!"
A triangular block of wood is shoved under the door to prop it open inches from Felicity's nose as she listens to the gruff grunts of men moving around the warehouse. Fear – useless and debilitating – races through her system and she's forced to bite back a whimper so they won't find her.
Her feet ache from holding herself still and her lungs fight for breath she doesn't dare to draw. She can still hear them moving around, the sounds of large bits of debris moving around. They're clearing out the warehouse, which doesn't bode well.
Not that Moira keeping the wreckage did either, but getting rid of the evidence means someone found out and she has reason to hide it. If she has a reason to hide the wreckage, Felicity really doesn't want to stick around to see how badly Moira wants to keep it a secret.
She doesn't know how long she waits there, poised in the shadow of the door. Her muscles all ache from prolonged tensing and she can't hold the posture any longer. Her headache intensifies as the moments drag on, her exhaustion banished by the onslaught of adrenaline. The sounds of movement are further away and Felicity decides to risk it.
She can't stand here a moment longer.
Ever so slowly – as if that could allow her to be silent – Felicity peeks around the edge of the door. Six men in all black move around the warehouse floor. None of them are looking in her direction, so she slips around the door and out of the warehouse the way she came in.
Once her heeled feet reach the bottom of the metal steps, Felicity yanks her phone back up and hits Speed Dial 1.
Oliver needs to see this.
"Hey! You there!"
Felicity doesn't turn around to see the man behind her before she takes off. Her feet and heels pounding the pavement – literally pounding in her case. Huh. So that's where the term comes from.
Her lungs burn as she tries to breathe in fresh air. She's not used to prolonged endurance. This is probably what they mean when Oliver and Digg tell her she needs to do more training.
Step after step, she runs, eyes locked on the corner of the warehouse in front of her. A turn: that's what she needs to put between her and her pursuer. It'll buy her the time she needs.
She didn't realize she could run in heels until now. Heavy footsteps echo behind her, urging her on towards her goal.
The corner is within reach, a few steps in front of her, when she feels a leather glove clench around her wrist, jerking her backwards and wrenching a cry from her throat. Her head collides painfully with the side of the building, but the adrenaline still pumping through her system prompts Felicity into moving.
Yeah, she was right: she doesn't know how to throw a punch correctly because it feels like she breaks something as her hand connects with the man's jaw.
It stuns him just enough that his grip loosens and she can dart away. She lost a heel in the debacle and she pauses to pull the other one off and chuck it at the goon following her. She must hit something because he groans and calls her an unflattering name.
Felicity doesn't look behind her as she runs again. There isn't time for that. She has enough of head start that she can run. She's not a captive, not yet. So she runs with everything she's worth.
Did she mention she could use some more training?
That might be a good idea if she ever does manage to get over the clench of her lungs. She can't even tell if someone's following her with the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Luckily she knows exactly where her car is parked.
But she can't run there.
"Stupid stupid stupid," she mutters to herself as she takes a sudden left instead of a right one building over. The only purpose is to find somewhere to hide. Behind a dumpster seems like a good option, so she throws himself into a corner and waits, struggling to control her breathing so the ragged sounds don't give her away.
Despite the rancid smell coming from the dumpster, Felicity presses closer to the cold metal of the dumpster. Once her heartbeat slows and her breath calms, she can finally hear that there's no pursuit, no one coming up behind her.
That was too close.
She glances down at her phone. She's not sure if she's relieved or terrified that her call didn't go through to Oliver – he would be pissed if he found out but if things had been worse, he would be the best back up.
Her adrenaline rush spent, Felicity now feels the thousands of little cuts and pebbles stuck in the bottom of her feet. She hisses softly in pain and plops on the concrete, heedless of the grime she's undoubtedly covered in now.
Everything's fine now, relatively speaking. She's alive, (mostly) unharmed, and there's no one chasing her. Her head just feels a little fuzzy, like it's floating or something. She knew it was too long since she exercised.
She waits another thirty minutes, the cold leeching into her body, before she walks back to her red Mini Cooper. She's dead on her feet, stumbling like she's drunk. The throbbing in her head really isn't helping.
By the time she makes it home, Oliver's texted to tell her he dropped Helena off with the FBI, which Felicity for one finds ridiculous. Who the hell is awake at 4am to accept a murderess with inside information on the Bertinellis. Then again, who wouldn't be.
She opens the text to respond, but suddenly the room spins as her exhaustion catches up with her. The headache, which until now was just a dull ache at the back of her mind, spirals out of control with a burst of dizziness. It's enough to make her forget her texts. Oliver can wait until morning. What she really needs is one good night of sleep. With that thought, Felicity collapses onto her bed, passing out in a heap of exhaustion, not bothering to change or even crawl under her covers.
She just needs some sleep.